A Frosty Journey: Rewrite 1
by FrostDragon9x
Summary: A modern soldier is stranded in Alagaesia after an interesting experience to say the least, and must figure out what to do, while keeping a deadly curse in check; or is it a blessing? Warnings: Blood, bad language and specs of ice, all seasoned by extremely irregular updates. Rating is T, for now. This is the rewritten version of my first fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This is fanfiction based on "The Inheritance Cycle" owned by Christopher Paolini, and inspiration is taken from the Disney movie "Frozen" among other shorter novels and videos. I do not own either of these titles nor any part of their contents, as they are trademarked by their respective owners. The only part in which I have the ownership in are my original character(s). This fanfiction is meant strictly for nonprofit enjoyment only, I do not make any kind of material profit.**

This is the first rewrite of my first fic, and thus my second one. I didn't like the way it had gone originally and I hadn't planned enough, leading to a situation where I had nothing to write and the story in general was a fractured piece of shit. Main character was going heavily towards being a Mary-Sue and the entire ice thing was just badly written, and I had written things and stuff that I shouldn't have. My style changed mid-fic etc. etc. I could keep on listing faults for a long time.

**So here's a new version! Please leave a review, say your opinions and point out possible mistakes. I tend to update chapters every now and then with corrections, so expect to see a changelog of some kind at the start of a chapter.**

**Warning: Blood and bad language with occasional specs of ice. And damn slow, irregular updates. I have a lot of other stuff to do like working , studying and playing games; writing this fic isn't very high in my priorities. You have been warned.**

**Pairings? Eh... I'll consider something but probably won't write anything serious. I don't feel that I have enough experience.**

**[26.9.2014 Switched the city from Paris to Kunduz. Paris isn't in Afghanistan. Fixed a minor error.]**

The night was cold, very cold, and quiet. I snuck closer to the camp of three bandits as silently as possible. The sky was lightly clouded and the moon was close to full. The camp was at the edge of a rather dense spruce and pine forest, close to a dirt road. Far behind the forest jagged mountains rose from the ground with the tallest ones being tipped by snow. On the other side of the road a huge plane of grass and shrubs extended as far as my eyes could see, covered lightly in frost and snow.

Earlier this day I had witnessed the bandits ambushing a carriage of a small family; only a father, son and a daughter. The children couldn't have been older than 10, they were small and scrawny. Well, what could I expect from an age like this anyway? The carriage itself was very simple, just a big wooden board with some planks nailed to it sideways on the underside to strengthen it. Obviously, it had wheels, and those things that you attach to the horses. I can't remember what they were called. Anyway, they were moving at a leisurely pace along the dirt road, probably heading to a nearby town for some supplies. I was walking by the tree line, a bit to the side, maybe 400 meters behind them; I did not want my appearance to startle anyone. I doubted that battle dress uniforms were a common sight in the area.

Not that they'd noticed anything, they seemd to be in somekind of a trance, staring unseeingly into nothingness while the horse slowly pulled them forward on the road.

The father was the first one to fall. Three arrows flew, straight and true from the forest and sank deep into his chest, probably piercing his heart and lungs. He fell from his front seat on the carriage, looking down to his chest, where the arrows now sprouted from. He let out barely any sound as he slowly fell off sideways, only a slight thump as his body landed on the snowy ground.

The children didn't seem to notice at first, as they sat at the rear gazing into the distance. Soon they awoke as the carriage bumped into his body with the left wheel rolling over his legs. They turned to the front of the carriage and froze for a small moment, seeing nothing where their father was supposed to be sitting at. They looked back and saw him lying sideways on the road, only the shafts holding him from turning face-down into the red-stained snow. Immediately they jumped from the carriage and ran to their father, yelling – screaming even – in fright.

I quickly hid behind a medium-sized dark green spruce and watched them from between two frosty branches, my hand curling around the handle of my combat knife in anger. I should take my rifle.

I didn't.

As the children's attention was devoted to their father, two bandits snuck from the forest. They took their bows and notched their arrows. In synchronization, they fired them deep into the back of the throats of the children and out from the other side, splattering blood on the ground. I did not hear any sounds to my hiding spot, which I had taken as I spied on them from the shadow the tree. The bodies of the family were dragged into the forest and left to rot.

I hadn't reacted, and I had been kind of ashamed by the fact. I could have grabbed my rifle and simply shot the bandits. I then decided that I wouldn't let them live. I don't particularly like children, nor do I warm up to strangers easily but I have my limits and they surpassed them.

Ammo was precious, and I won't be wasting any .338 rounds on them when I can easily take them down by other methods, such as by knife. It'll be far more dangerous, but I can do it.

The bandits stopped the horse pulling the carriage, and looted the family's property. They continued their day as if nothing happened on the stolen carriages, nibbling on most likely frozen bread and congratulating themselves. The temptation to pull out my rifle was great, but I was resolved to not to. I couldn't really keep up with them while staying hidden, but I was confident that I could track them down. The tracks left in the snow and dirt by the carriage were easy to follow.

* * *

><p>They had stopped for the night at the tree line. I observed the bandits and their camp. The horse that was pulling the carriage was tied to a pine a few meters away, with the carriage sitting next to them. The bandits were huddling beside a fire, one of them preparing food. They sat silently next to their bags and thick slabs of cloth that laid beside them.<p>

All of them had bows and a quiver of arrows. That was the end of the similarities, at least mostly. The first of the three had generic clothing. Brown tunic, and loose grey, probably woolen, pants. He was clearly the youngest. His face was slightly rounded and unmarred by the passage of time or battles. He had brown hair and a defined jaw. He seemed slightly like a newcomer, sitting a bit farther from the others and looking awkward.

The second seemed to be dressed in some kind of basic leather armor, brown again but a shade or three lighter. It had small pauldrons, nothing more but a bit of extra leather at the shoulders. It also looked hardened at the chest region. He was much older, probably the oldest of the group, his hair was thin and graying. For the pants he had loose leather ones, with a piece of string holding them up, and a small dagger dangling on his side.

The third one was obviously the leader from my point of view. He had a rudimentary, slightly rusted sword lying beside his mattress, without a scabbard. He had a collared chain mail byrnie that was dulled and looked unkempt, riddled with holes of varying sizes, pulled over a dirty white shirt. He also had leather boots, with light gray pants. His face was hardened and he had a white scar on his tanned cheek extending from his chin upwards and left to beneath his eye. It gleamed slightly in the light of the fire, making it easy to see.

The newcomer stood up and walked towards the forest, quietly saying something about relieving himself. I could barely hear it over the slight rustle of wind. He was coming right towards my hiding place, a small spruce a bit into the forest. I quickly made a plan in my head and carefully moved myself closer to the tree, sinking between the branches. Desert camouflage really isn't the best for this situation, but it'll do in the darkness.

As the bandit started to relieve himself, I stepped behind the bandit into his own footprint. Luckily he had rather large feet and the leather shoes left smooth tracks, having flat soles. I stood behind the bandit, thinking of what to do to him. I took out my combat knife and hardened myself, enabling me to lock my emotions for a short while.

The bandit was still oblivious of me. He finished up, raised his pants. The bandit only let out a slight surprised sound that could have been "What?" as I grabbed his mouth from behind, and stabbed down at his chest from an upwards angle, into the small gap between his ribs and into his heart. He jerked in my grasp for a second, and then he was gone. All life was gone, and he became as soulless carcass probably staring into space. His head fell back onto my shoulder, and I pulled my knife out of him with a slick sound.

The body hitting the ground caused some noise, mainly shuffling and a crack something breaking. I winced. The two other bandits were starting to get worried, shouting for the newcomer. He was apparently named Aubrey. The two remaining bandit started walking towards the forest. Not holding the first bandit up had been an amateur mistake. Luckily it was rather dark; the Moon was covered by light clouds, cutting a part of the light shining down, and making it much easier to hide among the trees even in a desert BDU.

I bent down quickly grabbed a mossy, fractured piece of a boulder, slightly larger than my fist from the ground. I aimed at the second bandit with the leather armor and threw the rock as hard as I could with making as little noise as possible, only releasing a slight grunt. I hit the left side of his face, far to the side, but enough for him to lose his balance and probably break his cheekbone. He fell directly into the campfire.

And then he screamed. It was loud and the tone was near undescribable, unholy if something. Even with knowing what they had done, I couldn't help but regret slightly but I kept my nerves and moved. The screaming was an excellent cover for switching positions, and I maneuvered to get behind the leaders' back. The leader of the group didn't even try to help him; It was probably a wise choice, because if he did, I could've snuck up on him right away. He has experience. I sneered at him, hidden behind the trunk of a large pine.

The screams died down, and the smell of charred flesh, mixed with burnt hair, spread. He should've been able to roll out of the fire, but he probably inhaled the hot gases and burned his lungs. His broken bones probably didn't help either. The leader was now very wary, gazing around, mostly trailing the edge of the forest. I grabbed another rock, a small one, and threw it in a high arc through a hole in the branches as he turned away from me. It landed almost where I wanted it to, Into the forest and his field of view. It seems that today is my lucky day as the rock startled some critters, creating additional racket. The leader shouted: "Who goes there?" The shout echoed in the night, critters still moving and making noise.

I crept towards the leader from the forest. He wasn't far from the edge, standing with his knees bent, ready to move with his sword held up in his right hand. Apparently I wasn't quiet enough and he heard my shuffling. He started turning towards me, I took three running steps and kicked him in the side with the full force of my body behind the kick. Chainmail might protect from blades, but it did nothing to stop a kick.

He was thrown onto his side and spun round once, ending up next to the campfire and dropping his sword. I grabbed my combat knife, rushed forward and held him down with my left hand. I stabbed him right into the base of his throat, above the collarbones and the protective iron mesh of rings.

I didn't make the mistake of looking him in the eyes, and kept my own locked to his neck. He reached for the knife with his hand, trying futilely to do something about it. His head fell. Lying on his back on the ground, half of him was painted in orange, flickering light, and the other half was kept in darkness. His white shirt was soaked in bright red blood, and so was the snow under him.

I closed his eyes and pulled my knife from his neck and examined it. It was of fine make. The handle was covered in rough, hard rubber for a good grip, with a steel hand guard extending a bit to the both side of the blade. The Blade itself was matte black, seven inches long high-carbon steel coated with Teflon and dripping with blood. It was sharpened on both sides, with a bit of serration on the back of the upper blade. I wiped it clean on his pants.

It seemed oddly peaceful. The critters had calmed down and the fire crackled merrily beside me, oblivious of what had just happened. It was a beautiful night; calm night, moon shining lightly, snow glittering in the cold light. Then my gaze went back to the bodies. No matter how many times I was forced to kill, by whatever or for my country, I always disliked it, sometimes more and sometimes less. Seeing the life slip away from the eyes of my victims, or feeling the recoil of a gun on my shoulder, knowing that the bullet is likely to end another life was disturbing no matter how many times I did it.

And now, I realized, that I had truly killed in cold blood for the first time. Well, kind of; I had killed many before, but I always had a reason like to protect my mates, but now I killed to avenge an unkown family. I had little regret for ending these persons, scum,who probably had nothing left except for each other, just trying to survive the winter. I grew afraid of myself. Am I turning into a cold, emotionless killing machine, sulled by war? My mind set on to clear the last few events from my memories, but instead sunk deeper into them.

* * *

><p>I am not originally of this dimension, world, or whatever you feel like calling it. I was serving in Afghanistan during a terrorist attack as a recon specialist. I have always been branded weird, not being interested in things like dating or clothes. I had few hobbies and only had a very small circle of friends. The rest of friends consisted of guys and a few girls I met online, but had never seen in real life.<p>

Eventually I followed my desire to protect and went to army and few of my friends followed, choosing civil service, delaying, simply ending up elsewhere, and one outright refusing and going to jail. The training was grueling, but I thrived and got stuck in sniper training. So, I ended up with a Barrett M98B on my back and a slightly modified version of the standard desert uniform.

In the beginning of my service in Afghanistan, my primary method of spending, or sometimes wasting, time was driving unmanned aerial vehicles, or UAVs. The rest of my battalion mates started referring to me as "Tactical Wall Hack", testament to the numerous surveillance equipment carried upon the UAVs. It had everything a team could dream of: A camera that could in addition to normal light also enchance it to provide night vision, and also receive Infrared and even ultra-violet light. Add a large zoom, laser designator, and a few weapons such as the AGM-114P Hellfire missile and everyone loved me instantly. I didn't lose a single friend during that time.

Then my orders changed, and I was called to serve as an anti-personel sniper. That's when I got my first real kills, and first real regrets. Even through the scope, I still saw the faces of the soldiers that I shot and sometimes the faces their squad mates, looking horrified, startled, and once even happy, among others. I didn't like it, but it had to be done. To save my friends and comrades, killing wasn't out of guestion. I'm a hypocrite, selfish and probably a racist too, but I kept my mates alive, if only barely. The lack of vision was frustrating, but I had to cope with it.

So how did I end up in this primitive country, in middle of nowhere? I got shot, or more like blown apart. The last memory of my time in Kunduz was that of a barrel of a T-72 Main Battle Tank rolling on to the streets and into my scope. I began to turn it's turret to point at the window from which I had been shooting from. I knew this was it; they had seen me with their thermal camera. My .338 bullets couldn't do anything to that thing, and even less than that from this range. Well, maybe I could've broken a light on top of the tank or the camera, but I didn't have the time for it. I had to get out of there.

I wasn't fast enough; I had been fighting in the city for eight days already and I was exhausted. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye as I sprinted down the hallway on the third foor, windows whizzing past me. I saw the flash, felt searing pain and then nothing. No blackness, whiteness or any other color. Just nothing.

I woke up in this infernally large plain, still sprinting. I stumbled to a stop, released a slow breath and dropped my rifle. I began to shake uncontrollably and ended up on my butt on the frozen ground. It was rather hard to comprehend what had just happened.

I stood up quickly as the ground was freezing cold. Wasn't it just late spring in Afghanistan? I grabbed my rifle and slung it to my back. In every single direction was just more and more grass, covered lightly in snow. And to the west, in the distance I could make out the forms of mountains, shrouded by blue fog. They were better than the nothingness that extended to other directions so I set towards them, walking across the plains. It'd be a long walk.

Every now and then there'd be a small shrub, or a small iced over puddle. Mostly it was plains. It was boring as Hell. But Hell probably isn't that boring with the torture and all. I sank into my thoughts, coming to terms with what just happened. As I walked towards the mountain range I noticed a forest, just barely. The surface of earth starts curving noticeably away at around 5km, so the forest was likely only a bit farther than that.

I started checking my equipment. I had, like I said, a modified version of the standard kit. I had a Glock 17 strapped to my right leg in an adjustable pistol holster, and an assault backpack strapped onto my back, with the rifle hanging on to the side. In the pack, I had rations for seven days and a shitload of ammo. On my torso I had a vest with multiple pockets holding eight magazines for the sniper, four for the pistol, two fragmentation grenades, two flashbangs, a holster for my knife, and an auxiliary pocket with a map, my radio, compass, GPS and name tags on the Velcro-covered surface. Of course, the 6kgs of SAPI armor plates were included with the vest, bringing the weight to 10Kg. Adding in the pack, the rifle and the pistol, the total weight was 20 to 25Kg.

The screen of the GPS stared at me, but instead of a map I only saw my own face covered in a dark gray balaclava. The Electronics didn't work. They turned on, but there was no contact to anyone or anything. I carried on walking, swearing lightly under my breath. I had no Idea where I were and probably no possibilty of finding out in the near future. Atleast the compass worked, if sluggishly.

Soon I fell into a trance, called "the flow" as I walked mindlessly. The forest wasn't five kilometers away, not even close. Either the trees were old and massive or they were on the slopes of the mountains, probably both.

I thought about my death and how amazingly well I was taking it. How would everyone be back at home? How would my friends feel? Would I ever get so see my computer again? It was surreal. My emotions seemed distant and clouded, unlike normal when my emotions were constantly in the surface, even though covered up. Time passed quickly, and soon it was dusk., I had just reached the edge of the forest in time. The sunset was beautiful as the last rays of light shone from above the mountains. I ate some rations and took out a rolled-up mattress. It took me a small forever to fall asleep, but eventually I did.

I woke up in the morning to hear something clopping a distance away, idle chatter and sometimes shouting about "stern rise" or something like that. I carefully rose up, and peeked over the tall grass. Two people were on horseback, walking along a road that was barely distinguishable from this distance.

An old man with white, balding head dressed in a blackish leather clothes with a cloak over him, and a young boy, maybe fifteen, with him dressed in similar gear rode down the road on two horses. Both had a large backpack, and the old man had a long package strapped onto his pack. They both also had weapons. The old man had a sword, in a scabbard, hanging from his belt, with only the handle and a bit of the scabbard being visible from under the cloak. The boy had a bow and a quiver of arrows, with a long knife at his side.

The boy was what caught my attention. He had short brown hair, was young, and holding what looked like to be a stone, a floating stone, in his hand, palm shining in the dim morning light like a beacon. "What the hell?" I said very lightly, under my breath. That, if something, was weird. But apparently I said it too loud, as the older man turned to my direction. How the hell had he heard me from such a distance? I ducked slowly, hoping that the grass would hide my silhouette. How the fuck could he have heard me?

Luck was on my side, once again, and he continued riding along with the boy. Instead of standing up, and continuing my journey, I began to think. These two reminded me of something. Then, I heard a loud, low, teeth-jarring "THUMP", several times in a rapid succession, getting louder and louder. I took my rifle and raised it to my eye as a makeshift telescope. In the distance, the boy had dismounted his horse and was walking to the side. And then a fucking dragon landed next to him, and he climbed onto a saddle in its back. A big, blue dragon. With a saddle. I fainted.

When I woke up, it dusk was already falling. snapped myself out of it, and focused on the situation. I had to get shelter and probably food soon. The rations weren't going to last forever. I began walking towards the road, and thought about what I had seen. The stone and the dragon... they reminded me strongly of Inheritance cycle. More specifically, Eragon. So I had died, woken up in a damned book. Or the movie. Please let it be the book, please...

* * *

><p>I finally snapped out of my memories. I still needed food and shelter, I couldn't get distracted now. So I looted the bandits, as they had the family. They didn't have much, only a small bag of coins, and some bread with strips of dried and salted meat packed in paper. Still, better than nothing. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with 21 golden, or brass, coins.<p>

The bodies must be disposed of, and I dumped them under a random spruce in the forest and was done with it. The blood was covered with snow to hide the worst of it. I took one of the mattress, and laid down by the fire, ready to sleep after forcing some of the meat and bread down. It was hard to fall asleep as every single sound was magnified, and the howling in the distance didn't sound too good either.

Sleep didn't last long. I woke up, in the middle of the night. The fire was nothing more but a pile of embers, emitting a slight crack every now and then. I threw some wood onto the embers that the bandits had fetched before and blew on it, reigniting the fire. I scanned my surrounding, doing slow rotations. A light was closing in on my position from the fields. I grabbed my Glock in my right hand and my knife in my left hand. I pointed the gun towards the light, and held he knife under the gun, blade pointing forwards.

The light was moving jerkily; speeding up and slowing down, wobbling from side to side. The light split into one large ball, with smaller particles orbiting it. It was now close enough for me to hear a slight, constant tingling noise. "A Spirit", I quietly remarked to myself, and holstered my weapons. If I remember corectly, they generally weren't hostile but they also were rather unpredictable.

It came closer, until it was right in front of me. It shrunk down to a size of a tennis ball, and switched to purple color. The smaller particles of the spirit started spinning around it, and flared out in a flower-like pattern. And then they fell back towards the ground, accelerating, right towards me. "Well fuck." Was all I could say before the particles hit me, and disappeared. It felt kind of nice, and warm, not too bad actually.

Then the visions assaulted me. I could see flashes of life a bit like a movie from various instances across ages. I saw **him** growing up in a farm, finding a girl in the annual dance festival, troubles, and other. He had had two children, a boy and a girl. he Spirit showed me its life.

The mother died at childbirth of the younger girl, and he was devastated. But even with all the things life threw at him, he pushed on. Life went on, until three arrow stopped it. Déjà vu. This was the spirit of the father who was shot by bandits.

The visions faded, and reality slowly took place. He was still floating in the same place, and the particles were back, orbiting it - him. I reached out to touch the spirit, lifting my right hand to his side, if he had a side anymore. I was close to touching him and a bolt of lightning snapped out of the orb, and struck my hand and I pulled it back.

"Okay, I won't touch!" I said quickly, but the damage was apparently done. He retreated a bit, changed to a red color, then back to purple and then to blue. And then he started hurling towards me at an alarming speed. I walked backwards, and stumbled on the rock I threw at the second bandit earlier. I took the impact of falling with my left hand, jarring it, and lifted my open right towards the spirit.

It flew right intomy hand, through the glove like the particles before, bypassing everything. I could feel the now familiar warmth coursing within my arm. Then it changed. The whole warmth in my right arm and the side of my chest, switched to ice cold. And then it was burning hot, spreading constantly. Then it reached my head. The pain was extreme, and I fell. I was distantly aware of my helmet rolling from my head, and my knees hitting the ground. Everything disappeared.

Now I could see myself. My life was rolling infront of my eyes, just like the spirits life. I watched myself live from a window, with the spirit particles flowing around, weaving complex patterns and leaving glowing trails in all the colors of a rainbow. The film finally reached current events after rolling through my entire life, and the particles changed to red. I guess the spirit didn't like what it saw; All the scenes of death lingered a bit longer than others. Blackness swam into my vision, cloaking everything in darkness.

The birds were chirping. I slowly opened my eyes, and the world swam into my vision. I quickly got up, and fell down right after to ground, as blackness slowly threatened to envelop my field of view. "Shit…" I muttered under my breath. My heart couldn't keep up with such rapid movement right after waking up, damned low blood pressure.

I slowly rose, and sat on my helmet. I closed my eyes, dropped my backpack behind me onto the ground with a thud, rifle clattering beside it, and pulled off my balaclava. My long hair covered my eyes, released from the confines of the cloth. I rolled my shoulders and massaged my skull. It was very tender and sensitive. I opened my eyes, only to see white. Why was it white? Sure, the ground was covered by snow, but I wasn't looking at it. And my hair is brown. I grabbed my aux pocket, hands shaking, and ripped it open. I took my GPS. The blank screen could be used as a mirror.

My hair was not brown anymore. It was a very pale shade of blonde, almost white. My gray-green eyes stared back at me from the screen. No change there. My unusually pale face stared back at me, considering that I had just been in Afghanistan for quite some time. "Pale..." Were I sick or something? I wiped my face clean with my free gloved hand to get rid of the dirt, dust and ash around my eyes, the area that wasn't covered before by the balaclava. I stared at the glove. It was supposed to be black leather. It had turned white, with only the padding on the back of it staying black, even though being slightly frosted over. The left glove was still normal black.

I began to lose control. I stood up, knocking my helmet over. My breath hitched, and I was shaking as I stared at the GPS, which was slowly frosting over, hiding my reflection. I dropped it. I lifted my shaking hands before my eyes and slowly removed the gloves. My hands were pale. Not healthily tanned. Ice spread in a circle from my feet. I lifted my sleeves. Pale. All my anxiety and fear, and everything else that I thought I had dealt with since my "death" rose to the surface and cracked my mind.

Glittering blue spikes of ice burst hungrily outwards, freezing winds started to pick up and the sky was being covered in clouds. "The fuck is going on in here!" I shouted in to the heavens, startling the nearby animals and sending them darting away. Everything went white.

As I slowly regained control and vision from the whiteout, I quickly picked up my gloves and slipped them back on. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. And again, and again. The storm calmed down with me, and I saw spikes of ice. I turned around only to see more spikes. I grabbed one of them with both hands and tried to break it off, braced myself against the base with my foot and pulled harder, and I even whacked it with the handle of my pistol. No matter how I tried, it didn't even budge.

I looked towards the tip of it. Maybe two and a half meters from the ground up was my helmet, impaled on it with the spike going clean through the composite helmet. "I really , really hope this works." I said to no-one in particular, grabbed my pistol, covered my face and shot once at the spike. Shards flew everywhere, one of them embedding itself on the padding on the back of my glove. I looked at the ice, and saw small cracks quickly knitting back together with a crinkling sound. On the padding, was a shard of metal. No marks, no cracks or dents could be seen now; Just smooth, clear and beautiful light blue ice. I had trapped myself in a nearly impenetrable cage of deadly sharp, sparkling spikes of ice. The wind was picking up again.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who favorited, alerted and/or reviewed the first chapter.**

**I ended up rewriting and editing a large part of this chapter a second time, even though I posted that this chapter was finished in the original story; hence the delay. Sorry.**

**[26.9.2014 Ch. 1] Switched the city from Paris to Kunduz in. Paris isn't in Afghanistan.]**

I stared wide-eyed at the scene around.

I'm completely surrounded by a cage of deadly sharp, sparkling spikes of ice, and they repair themselves. The wind began to pick up speed as I tried frantically to figure what was going on, but drew up nothing. The wind pulled on my uniform and threw small pieces of ice, instead of snow, into my face; they stung like little needles. I soon pulled my balaclava over my head and settled it somewhat comfortably to cover my face and covered my eyes with my hand. I fell into a crouch and ducked low to further avoid the wind.

I began to calm down once I was safe from the pelting hail. I slowly relaxed and the wind died down, dropping the needle-like crystals to the ground. I lowered my hand down and took in the enviroment.

I'm still surrounded by ice. My helmet was speared through, and my pack and rifle were nowhere to be seen.

I sat in the small space I had. Frozen wind swirled around me in light gusts, once again carrying snow and ice around. All around me, small crackles could be heard as the remaining moisture in the air snap-froze into small crystals, covering the earth in a sparse layer of diamonds.

I leaned down. A long blade of grass was sticking up from the ice. I between my fingers; it cracked and shattered in half as I tried bending it. The ice around me is much stronger than steel, and stuff shatters when bent. It has to be extremely cold right now. And with me being practically in summer gear, with nothing but a thin layer of cotton to cover my head... How am I not frozen to a statue, or even cold at all? What the hell is even going on in here? Where did all of this ice even come from?

"So, how do I get out of here?" I asked myself. The ice can't really be broken by any means, at least convenient ones. Repeated shots in quick succession might shatter a spike, but it'd also slice me up. Could it be broken by itself? Well, stupid question. I can't just grab one of those spikes and hit another spike with it... I stood up and took a step to the nearest spike.

Clear ice greeted me with a slight "crick" as it fractured and welded back together a second later. Interesting. The spike reached up to near my chin and was now almost completely devoid of imperfections. I took my gloves off and touched it, sliding my hand up it's side. It's completely smooth, tapering slowly to a razor-sharp point. And somehow it didn't seem have a temperature. It wasn't cold or warm, but it couldn't have been skin temperature either or it'd melt.

I put my gloves back on, grabbed the spike near the tip and pulled hard enough to snap any ordinary icicle, but not this one. It was completely solid and unmovable.

I leaned on to the side of a spike to the left with one of my hands and stared at the icy ground. "What now?" I muttered. I guess I could try to climb out of here. Except that there's nothing to grip and spikes of all lengths are everywhere around me, each one sharp like a needle. One slip and I would be impaled and most probably dead. Again.

I was getting seriously frustrated and the wind began to picking up again, slowly lifting the jewel-like crystals back into the air. Great, more needles to pelt my face. I kicked my foot into the ground as I muttered curses under my breath. I can't really dig my way out either as the ground is frozen hard and mostly covered in the same damn ice.

I punched the side of the spike in anger. Why does shit like this have to happen? And this spike could go melt in Hell!

No sooner than I had thought that, two similar pieces of ice rose from the ground and rammed into the middle one I was looking at, shattering the larger spike in a flurry of shards. My eyes were probably saved only by my reflexes and I managed to shut them before the countless shards pelted my face. A particularly large shard sliced into my upper cheek just above the lower edge of my balaclava and I could hear it spinning past my ear a fraction of a second later. My hand hand't been that far from being pierced through either.

I swiped across the wound with my hand, and my hand was still mostly clean after; the wound wasn't deep and the bleeding was light. Nothing to worry about. Damn... What the hell just happened? I punched the spike in anger and...

Wait. Calm yourself, idiot. Is this what you learned, to throw a goddamn tantrum like a two-year-old?

... Could it be that I somehow control the ice?

The answer came swiftly from the ice. As I kicked the ground in frustration, a pillar of ice pushed up under my feet and lifted me up. I wobbled on top of the pillar, arms spread and trying to keep my balance. Once I was up and over the tallest spikes, the pillar stopped rising and I nearly fell down to my death at the sudden stop.

Yep, I can control ice. The ice bends to my desire... Emotions definitely have a part in controlling it too.

I managed to balance myself on the smooth pillar and stood carefully. The ice around wasn't spread as far I thought I would have. The spikes formed a flower-like formation maybe ten meters across; the spikes in the middle rose straight up, and as the spikes got farther away from the center they leaned down more and more, eventually encountering the ground and sinking into it.

The horse belonging to the former family was impaled on multiple spikes, frozen, and was hanging in the air from them. I stared at it as it hung. I would have to be in near-perfect control of this ice-power-thing before going anywhere near another human or civilization.

The ground was covered in a circle of smooth, mirror-like ice around twenty meters across, only the small circle where I were had been partially saved from the ice. The forest around was completely frozen with more spikes going clean through the nearest trees. The entry was clean, but at the point where the spikes had come out of the wood it was splintered and shattered outwards. White frost was covering every branch, needle and occasional leaf. I spotted the from of the wreck of the carriage laying shattered on the ground under the outermost spikes, covered in snow and ice. Part of it were hanging from spikes and swung slowly in the wind.

However the problem from before remained. I was still stuck, but this time suspended three meters in the air, on top of a pillar of very slippery ice. The situation had gone from bad to worse. Since it seems that I can create more than simple spikes with my "powers", maybe I could form a bridge or stairs to get out of here?

I waved my hand expectantly in a curve along the edges of the spikes.

Nothing happened.

"Dammit."

Let's try that again. So, what do I need to control the ice? Emotion at least, but relying on it has been unpredictable at best. Concentration seems to do little, but when I desired something, the ice seemed to do something to fulfil that desire... Could that be it? Intent-based control?

This time I closed my eyes and concentrated on a bridge of ice, imagining it rising from the ground, clean and glistening, gliding over the spikes and connecting to the pillar I was standing on seamlessly. I wanted it to be there, I wanted to get out of here. I once again lifted my hand in an upwards curve towards myself, and a ramp of ice rose from the ground and rushed towards the side of the pillar, and shattered it from the force of the collision.

I lost my balance and skid down the makeshift bridge, over and out from the flower of spikes. I slid forward on my back on the ice, dazed. I lifted my white-gloved right hand up, still laying on my back, and held it before my eyes; this was rather interesting, and probably extremely dangerous. Visualizing and desiring something to happen helps for sure, but controlling it isn't that easy, it seems. Too much intent, maybe?

I stood up, slipping slightly on the ice and absently checking myself for any broken bones, bruises or ripped clothes. These boots aren't the best for this either. The soles are frozen hard so they're more like dull skates than boots.

Speaking of clothes, where's my pack and rifle? I stood up and began to carefully circle the flower of spikes, looking under and among them and scanning the edge of the forest. The pack has all my food and reserve ammo, I'm not going anywhere without it.

"Aha!" I exclaimed as I shortly found the tan pack hanging from one of the lower spikes by one its straps. It was deep in the flower, and out of a hand's reach.

The ice once again did it's thing and a bar of it pushed the pack outward, and it slid smoothly into my arms. I hoisted it onto my back, and almost fell down on the ice as my balance shifted from the swinging weight. I have to get off of this ice before I break my neck.

Now I still have to find my rifle. I had dropped the rifle next to the pack so it couldn't be that far away from it, and since it wasn't in the flower, it had to be in the forest. I turned around and scanned the forest more carefully, and there it was, thrown to the edge of the circle of ice. I walked towards it, slipping and almost falling down once or twice. Why does this ice have to be smooth like a damn mirror?

The ice grew to an asphalt-like texture.

"Well, that's convenient." I said, dumbstruck. I really can control it...

I grabbed the rifle and inspected it, testing the action. There seemed to be nothing wrong with it, and as long as I don't shoot anything while it's this cold I should be just fine. I happily threw it to my back and turned to look at the flower once more. My goddamn helmet was still there, pierced and completely unusable.

"What a waste..." I muttered, and the entire flower of ice seemed to sense that I didn't care about the helmet, so it imploded on it. The helmet was pierced and crushed to dust and leaving only a tightly packed tower of spiraling, cracked spikes in its place. I was stumped. How the hell did that just happen? I had no intents towards that helmet... I did kind of abandon it, though. Is this "ice" sentient or what?

I also heard a low thud and a multitude of cracks as the helmet was destroyed. The cause for the noises was the dead horse which had fallen and the trees that had been pierced as the spikes had moved, and the horse was now laying on the cold, hard ice. Sadness hit me once again. I had killed three men and an innocent horse for practically nothing but personal satisfaction – revenge. What am I turning into? Another mindless killing machine like some of the other soldiers? No. I wouldn't. Sometimes certain things just have to be done, and they would probably have kept on murdering and plundering. Someone would have killed them eventually, and this time the duty happened to fall on my shoulders.

I took the bodies of the bandits and the horse, and arranged them into a row. With my heart like the ice I can now create, I closed their undeeing eyes for the last time. I stood back and watched them. Their clothes were stained in blood and the leaders' chain mail shirt was practically falling apart.

The sword might be of some use, though. I picked it up and looked at it more closely, only to disregard the sword right away. It's rusted, chpped and dull. I laid it beside the former leader.

The sun was high, so it was close to midday, probably somewhere around ten or eleven o'clock. I wiped the shards of ice from the surface of my balaclava and grabbed my rifle. I held it over my shoulder, snapped into a salute and stood silently in attention for one minute. With a heavy heart, I turned away from the gruesome sight and began walking towards the road, leaving the circle of ice and towering spikes behind me.

The constant cracking noise from the freezing moisture followed me as I walked. I have to figure out something to stop that... Since this power seems to be based on my intent and desires, could simply I will it to stop?

The cracking quieted down and the ground wasn't freezing at my feet anymore, but as I resumed walking I lost my concentration and the noise began anew. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy, nothing ever is.

Eragon and Brom had been heading south, so I should probably do so too. I looked back at the scene one last time. The tower of ice spikes was rather majestetic. I shrugged my shoulders and took the direction from the sun and started walking down the road. The snow on the plains was rapidly melting, but a trail of light frost was left behind me, sparkling in the oddly warm winter sun.

Even though this day would be weighed down heavily by loss and blood, at least it'll be a beautiful one.


End file.
